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Serenity to the Power of Ten
By the time you get to Amanjiwo, you're already an hour and a half west of the Yogya airport, and so far from any real mechanized activity that the sound of silence vibrates at its own unique pitch. We sat on our covered bale, or floated in the slightly saline plunge pool, at every opportunity, the tiny bump of Borobudur swelling on the horizon, watching the sky change colors as if we were channeling Monet.
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